Category Archives: Family

May 29, 2012 · 0:00

It’s My Blirthday Too — Yah!

One year ago today, when I was a mere fifty-four and a half years old, I started FiftyFourAndAHalf.com.  A blog with a stupid name that I decided to keep.  So yup, today’s my first Blirthday!

John Lennon is, in fact singing “Blirthday.”  He was a man well ahead of his time, singing in celebration of something that hadn’t happened yet.  (Kind of like when he sang about peace.)

*****

When I started this blog, well, I figured it would be filled with rants about politics.  That was the subject of my very first post, in fact.  I was mad as hell that the GOP wanted to end Medicare for folks 55 and under.  I took it rather personally, in fact, given that they were going to take it away from me.

So now that I fixed that –

Excuse me?  I didn’t?  I didn’t fix it?  You mean they’re still talking about screwing people 55 years and younger?  Damn!  I guess I can’t quit now.

Anyway, I found that I was writing and posting kind of a mish-mash in here.  A little politics, a little bit of silly stuff, way more embarrassing stories about me than I can believe I have actually put in print.  And occasionally a serious piece.  Oh, and I didn’t forget politics.

Yup.  I find that FiftyFourAndAHalf.com has become a sock drawer of a blog.  And I’m OK with that.

Don’t grumble. They’re all clean.

But to celebrate my Blirthday, I need to thank a number of people who have been helpful and supportive:

John,

Jacob

Cooper

Other Family Members who would kill me if I named them

Jen and Keily and Judy and Bao

 And to three friends I met in writing classes who encouraged me to blog.  They became my first followers in the early months when, um, I didn’t tell anyone I actually knew about the blog.  (These guys are all good writers and they need to post way more often):

Delajus at Higher and Higher

Jamie at SleepDeprivedAndInsane

Lisa at Eat Plants said the Cow

And thank you, my bloggin’ buddies, for reading, commenting, “LIKE”-ing  and writing such great stuff that I spend all my time reading and commenting on your blogs instead of cleaning my house.  Please remember me when the Health Inspector condemns it.

“But seriously, officer, I’ll clean it up as soon as I finish this comment …”

90 Comments

Filed under Elections, Family, Humor, Hypocrisy, Politics, Stupidity

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May 20, 2012 · 0:00

A Love (?) Story

When I tell this story, I always have to put in a disclaimer.  Sort of like Dickens at the beginning of A Christmas Carol, when he says

“it must be understood that Marley was dead, otherwise nothing strange and wonderful could have happened.”

In this case, it must be understood that I was really, really nice to everyone.  Promise me you’ll remember that.

Once upon a time, I had a job at a law school.  The most fun job I’ve ever had.  I was the administrative assistant to a student organization, the BSA.  The Boy Scouts of America, law school chapter.  The BSA members were 2nd and 3rd year students who did a lot to make the first year students happier during their (relatively miserable and difficult) first year.  They did orientation, taught legal writing, answered questions on where to go, what to do.  The office was large, with comfy chairs and a couch, a full free coffee pot.  A good, friendly place to hang out.  The members did, and so did a core of 1st years who, naturally, tried to become members for their 2nd and 3rd years.

It was a wonderful job.  Basically I answered questions and was nice to people.  Always.  A smile on my face, a laugh, a soft shoulder when needed.  It was easy to be nice in such a fun job.

Substantively, I had to know what was going on in the members various activities, because I was the one in the office when the 1st year students had questions.  I had to know what was going on to give the  answers.  Because that was my job.  The BSA members were all nice.  Except Monte.  He wasn’t.  He was a jerk.  Totally uncooperative.  He deserved that name.

Monte was in charge of a very important program that was one of two mandatory moot court programs for all 1st year students.  Essentially, it’s where they learned how to present and argue a case.  A whole case.  They write the briefs and argued the case in front of a panel of judges.

The students had a million questions, and they were also apprehensive, because it was so important.  But Monte was in charge and wouldn’t let me know what was going on.  He wouldn’t answer my questions.  He wouldn’t keep me informed or involved.  I invariably had no answer to give to the poor student who really needed one.

Now, it might surprise you to know this, but I really hate to look stupid.  So one day I’d had enough of being unable to help, unable to answer questions I was supposed to answer.  Unable to do my job.  So I took Monte into the back room and politely explained in the nicest possible way, why he had to do things my way.

He responded “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”  And he left.

Me, except I’m blond. And in color.

To this very day I have never been so mad at anyone.

I went back to my desk fuming, steam coming out of my ears, angry tears, the works.  As I stood there, shaking mad, a tall, blond 1st year student entered the office, came up to me and said – oh I don’t remember what he said.  But it was a question about that program.  Monte’s program.

“I DON’T KNOW.  YOU WILL HAVE TO ASK MONTE WHO IS A COMPLETE JERK!” I screamed at the tall, completely innocent blond guy.

He stood there, put his hands on his hips, shook his head and left the office.  He never returned.

I remember it clearly.  Well, except all I can see in my memory is the outline of a faceless blond guy, shaking his head, clearly thinking “what a bitch she is not very nice.”

John did not propose then and there.

In fact, we didn’t ever cross paths again that we know about during the two years we were there together.  We met again through a guy I was dating who worked with John.  Years after I broke up with the other guy, John asked me out after we met up again at a party.

Whenever someone asks us the “how did you two meet?” question, well, I make sure I tell the story.  Because John claims I fired nuclear weapons at him, which, I think you will agree, is a slight exaggeration.  And it makes me look bad.

Really, I didn’t shoot at him.

But hey, my husband can never claim that he didn’t know I could be a bitch.  And that has been worth its weight in gold (or nukes) for almost 26 years.

*    *    *

I wrote this up after Arindam, of Being Arindam suggested I do it.  And because there is nothing I like to do more than humiliate myself.  Publicly.

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Filed under Awards, Family, Humor, Law

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May 18, 2012 · 0:00

Another “Day”

My life is shitty.

No, no, no.  I can’t say that, they’ll think I’m suicidal.

My life is in the toilet.

Ditto.

Saturday, May 19th is World IBD Day.  World Irritable Bowel Disease Day.

That’s it!

Recently I learned about this, umm, holiday.  It is a very personal one for me.  Way more personal than I want to admit.  But of course it’s not my fault.   I blame my sister, Judy.

You see, some time in the late sixties Judy pasted a picture on the front of the medicine cabinet above the toilet in our one bathroom.

*

Little did I know at whatever tender age I was that that picture would illustrate my life.  Because in 1972, not long after it went up, I found out that I had ulcerative colitis.  An inflammatory bowel disease.  The bloody flux.  I was in and out of the bathroom and the hospital for much of my teens and early 20s.  What a blast!

Long story short, it ended up that I didn’t have colitis!  But we only found that out when a bunch of men (led by Dr. Herbert Hoover) came at me with knives, removed my large intestine and reorganized my plumbing.  That was when they found out that I really had Crohn’s Disease.

Crohn’s Disease, is, well, worse.  Partly because I can’t for the life of me spell it.  But also because it means I still spend way too much time in the bathroom (although I am very well read).  Oh, and it can affect the entire rest of your body.  Trust me when I say it’s nasty, and that there is no cure.  I would be delighted if that were to change in my lifetime.

That’s why I’m divugling my secret to tell you that Saturday is World Inflammatory Bowl Disease Day.

As far as I can tell there are no festivities planned here in the U.S., although there are some in other countries (the ones that have universal health care, no doubt).

So, I thought up some IBD-related activities myself:

A toilet paper squeezing contest!

What a perv

A wet tee-shirt contest:

Contestants try to stay dry in a stall inhabited by a toilet with an automatic flushing mechanism!

No umbrellas allowed!

Lastly, a relay race around a circle comprised of 50 porta-poties set up on a public green!

(The winner of this last one gets to use a non-self-flushing toilet inside a nearby building when they feel the need, which, of course, they will. Repeatedly.)

I’m quite sure the organizers will contact me to help think up activities for next year’s festivities.

This  year, folks are asked to be aware of World IBD Day and to wear purple.  I understand the awareness part of it – and I would really like to  celebrate World IBD Day.

So let’s

  • Do more research to find a cure!
  • Stop running to the bathroom!
  • Take the “ooh” out of “POOH”!

So yeah, I get the raising awareness part.  But purple?  Wouldn’t brown be a better color?

*     *     *

For a less snarky take on Crohn’s and World IBD Day, see LifeFromTheSmallestRoom‘s piece on living with the disease.

86 Comments

Filed under Childhood Traumas, Family, Health and Medicine, Humor, Real Estate, Science

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May 12, 2012 · 0:00

Crazy stuff

Gay and Lesbian rights is really not my issue.  I’m straight but my sister, Beth, was gay.  It wasn’t a problem for me or my other siblings.  My parents had some difficulty at first, but then, because they loved their daughter, accepted her as she was.  I was very proud of them.

I don’t understand the problem some folks have with gays, frankly.  But then I saw this clip and, well, it all became clear to me.

Now I do understand the anti-gay folks.  They are bat-shit crazy.  But then again, it would be terrible if there were more “homociders” and “orgiers” in the world.  So I guess I just better rethink this tolerance and understanding of mine.

Because, after all, what would Jesus do?

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Filed under Family, Health and Medicine, Humor, Hypocrisy, Stupidity, Voting

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April 28, 2012 · 0:00

The Masterpiece

In 2003, I assured myself and my husband a comfortable retirement when I invested in Art.  And not just any old piece of art.  Nope.  I bought a Rembrandt.

Seriously.

You know Rembrandt, I’m sure.  He painted wonderful stuff:

The Night Watch (thanks Google)

And some seriously cool self portraits:

Google Again

OK, so now I am sure you know that I am discussing serious ART.

Well, I went to an auction in an affluent area here in NoVA the day before my husband, John’s, birthday.  They were selling all kinds of things.  Neat furniture.  Life size sculptures of animals. ( I considered buying myself a horse, and there were some available.  I like looking at horses; they are lovely animals.  But I don’t ride horses, and pooper scooping for a horse, well, that never really appealed to me.  Plus they bite.  I don’t like being bitten by animals I am feeding.)  But at this auction they were selling life-size horse sculptures.  Sculptures don’t poop, so I seriously considered buying one for the yard when the bidding started.  My niece, Jen, who was with me, held my arms down.  Thanks, Jen.  I was going for the pastoral look here at my house, but it was not to be.

The stuff that they were selling was pretty neat, actually.  An amazing assortment of furniture was on offer.  Sadly, none of it was furniture I was in the market for; and I couldn’t afford it anyway.  Nevertheless, I bought my husband John a lovely desk, one that he wouldn’t have picked out in a million years.  It was greeted with an unenthusiastic “oh, thanks.”  It was a bargain.  Unless you think of the fact that he didn’t really need a desk at the time.

But auctions are fun, and exciting.  It is easy to get caught up in the spirit of raising your hand to “win” something wonderful – to take it away from someone else.  Among the items that we could have previewed was a lot of art that I didn’t look at.  We have tons of pictures here in our house.  Way too many.

But the auctioneers were tricky.  They mixed up the art with the furniture.  And that, really, is how I came to own a Rembrandt.  Because they said the magic words:

“The next item (No. 214) is by one of the greatest Masters.  Rembrandt van Rijn!”

I looked around at the assembled crowd.  They were all ooh’ing and ahh’ing at the possibility that they might today purchase A Rembrandt.  Suddenly, I had to have it.  The fact that I had no idea what it looked like was completely and totally irrelevant.  It was a Rembrandt — a masterpiece.  How could it be anything but awe-inspiring?

The auctioneer called for an amount I could never afford, but nobody raised their hand.  The number went down.  And down again.  Still lower.  Way down to about the cost of a nicely framed poster of a Monet.

My hand went up.  For a picture I had never seen.  A Rembrandt!

After I started the bidding, several people joined me.  But by then, well, I had to have it; that Rembrandt was mine, dammit.  And I won.  For a ridiculously low price, I will add.  I think.  No, no, I’m sure it was dirt cheap.  Positive.

I took the picture home and proudly presented it to my husband for his birthday the next day.  Rembrandt is John’s favorite artist, and I knew he’d be thrilled to pieces to own a piece of his work.

John was truly delighted to know that he owned a Rembrandt.   So delighted, in fact, that he decided that we should put it up in the one room in our house where no one ever goes.

You see, the picture is an etching of Rembrandt’s father.  Who was seriously ugly.  And so, as day follows night, is the etching.

One ugly old dude. I mean, our masterpiece.

But the frame is beautiful.

And some day, when our house is robbed, the burglars will follow the signs we have put up all over the house:

“Don’t bother taking the electronics!  Upstairs is a Rembrandt.  Take the picture of the ugly old guy.  Please.”

Please don’t mention this post to our insurance company.

*     *     *

Many thanks to Eleanor of How the Hell Did I End Up Here whose recent post reminded me of my, um, Masterpiece.

55 Comments

Filed under Family, Humor, Stupidity

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